Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with my inner critic 

She likes to bring uncomfortable things up 

And she gets specific 

In front of others 

At parties 

And even when I’m under the covers

She showed up today at the post office 

I’d picked out a thank you card for a friend who gave me a lovely Christmas gift 

My inner critic asked if I was a novice 

She said my handwriting sucked

That my grammar was junk 

And that I couldn’t spell 

She told me to get back inside my shell 

She followed me home 

Clung to my shoulder like an angry gnome 

Whispered in my ear, “No one likes you or your hair”

When I got home, my neighbor was standing there 

My journal fell from my lap 

He said, “I don’t mean to hit you like a slap, but you have nice penmanship,” as he came back up from bending down to pick it up 

He closed it shut, said, “I wasn’t reading it”

And he winked 

His wife told me, “You know, you look good with short hair, I think”

She continued, “You’re more than all these things. Come to our party tonight. And wear whatever you want, it’ll be alright”

My inner critic got excited 

But I later told her she wasn’t invited 

And I went for a run – she couldn’t come 

I read my Bible and I talked to God

I sensed a nod – of approval 

I decided to go to my neighbor’s party 

I looked like I was dressed for a funeral 

I talked to everyone there 

Didn’t hide my hair 

I even wrote down my number to give to some new friends 

They giggled and said we could all be penmen 

Even my husband and old friends were there

It was lovely when we all even took a moment for prayer 

We all encouraged each other 

Outside we (?or was it just me?) heard some mutter 

Everyone at the party spoke and wore and looked and wrote their best

I looked out the window and that’s where the inner critics were left